Bonus Epilogue
Olivia
Six Years Later
“Has anyone seen the rest of the cupcakes?” I call from the kitchen, already knowing the answer is probably no. “Because they were on this bench literally ten minutes ago, and now they’re gone!”
From the backyard, I hear Joseph yell, “TEDDY ATE TWO!”
A chorus of laughter erupts outside. Perfect. The birthday cupcakes are now half-missing, I’m sweating through my dress, and my four-year-old daughter, Lillian, is about to celebrate her birthday with half of the dessert I was specifically saving for the candle moment.
Lillian was the best surprise of our lives.
I’d found out I was pregnant that February, just a few weeks after we got engaged.
The test sat on the bathroom sink, my heart pounding so hard, I could hear it in my ears.
I didn’t even get the chance to freak out before Sebastian wrapped his arms around me, kissed me, and said, “We’re doing this, baby. ”
We got married that June—nothing fancy, surrounded by the people who mattered most, a quiet ceremony tucked into the hills behind our property.
Then, that November, Lillian came barreling into the world like she had something to prove.
Ten tiny fingers and toes, a pair of lungs that could rival a siren, and Sebastian’s exact scowl when she didn’t get her way.
She’s now become fierce, funny, full of opinions, and currently yelling at Teddy to “save me at least ONE” from outside.
“Xavier!” I yell out toward the patio. “Can you please double-check the drinks for the juice boxes? I swear we had three packs.”
“I’m on it, boss!” he yells back, waving a hand with a half-built balloon arch around his arm.
“Sebastian!” I yell into the hallway. “Bash!”
Nothing.
“I’m going to lose my mind.”
“Already there,” Isla smirks, appearing at the kitchen door like the calming fairy she’s always been. She eyes me knowingly, glancing down at my small four-month baby bump before gently rubbing my arm. “Take a breather, Liv. You’re going to stress the baby out.”
I blow out a breath and place a hand protectively over my belly.
Our second baby. This time, not a surprise.
We don’t know the gender yet—we want to keep it a surprise this time—but if you ask Sebastian, he’ll say he’s hoping for a boy to “even out the sass ratio.” Whatever.
We’ll take whatever blessing God gives us.
“I just want it to be perfect,” I mutter, fussing over the tablecloth that keeps wrinkling in the centre.
“It’s her birthday, Isla. Four. I don’t know how that happened.
One minute, she’s crawling around with a bottle, the next, she’s demanding blue glittery nail polish and telling everyone that her name is Lillian ‘with two Ls.’”
“And let’s not forget she shares a birthday with her favourite uncle,” Isla adds with a grin.
I can’t help smiling. “Bradley’s already been dragged into face-painting duty. It’s what he gets for being born on the same day.”
Outside, chaos reigns in the best possible way.
The older kids—Teddy, Joseph, Callie, Gracie, Hope—are all tearing across the lawn, bouncing on the jumping castle.
Sandra’s kids are lined up at the face painting station next to our Lillian, who’s getting a sparkly rainbow tiger painted across her cheek.
The playpen is filled with the toddler crew: Amelia bouncing her twins, Sophia and Dominic, while Zoe rocks little Hazel on her hip.
I still remember when Zoe was adamant it would just be her, Michael, and the cat.
Now look at her. Baby on her hip, a smile on her face, married to a man who worships the ground she walks on.
I glance out the window and catch sight of Sebastian crouched by the barbecue, arguing with Xavier over something.
His forearms are flexed, rolled sleeves dusted with charcoal, and he’s wearing that backwards cap that does very dangerous things to me.
Even now. Even after all these years. I turn back to the cake in front of me, and as if summoned by the word “stress”, the back door swings open.
“I heard someone’s losing it,” he says, voice low, teasing. “And it better not be my wife.”
Isla doesn’t miss a beat. She flicks her thumb toward me.
“Talk to her. I’m gonna go supervise the kids before Joseph tries to teach my girls to do backflips again.
” She disappears with a wink. Suddenly it’s just us.
Sebastian closes the door behind him, stepping into the kitchen. His gaze trails over me.
“What’s wrong?”
“Everything.” I huff, gesturing around like a madwoman. “The cupcakes are missing, the balloon garland’s lopsided, I lost the gift tags, I can’t feel my feet, and I’m pretty sure the jumping castle is deflating slowly.”
Sebastian closes the distance in two strides, causing my breath to hitch. He cups my face in both palms, warm and steady, tilting my chin up to meet his eyes. And just like that, the panic stutters. It doesn’t stop entirely, but eases a little. His thumbs stroke along my cheekbones.
“It’s fine, sweetheart,” he says, in that low voice that still hits me right in the ribs. “I don’t want you stressing out. Everything’s under control.”
Easy for him to say when he’s not the hormonal party planner with swollen ankles and a cake knife in her back pocket. But it helps. God, it helps more than I’ll ever admit out loud. His hands slide down, one drifting to the curve of my belly.
“How’s the baby?”
“She’s fine,” I say automatically.
His eyebrow kicks up. “He?” he corrects, smirking.
I glare. “Still not voting.”
Sebastian grins and presses a kiss to my temple, then to the tip of my nose. “You’re flustered.”
“No shit.”
His hands slide up my back, pulling me closer, his mouth brushing mine. “You know what you need?”
“Hmm?” I mumble, already dizzy from just looking at him. God, he’s ageing like fine fucking wine. A little grey at the temples, a little more salt in the beard… which I tease him about it constantly, though I’m obsessed.
Sebastian kisses me again, slower this time, deeper. Oh. I know this kiss. Yeah, I know exactly what he has in mind. He doesn’t wait for me to speak, because in one swift move, Sebastian spins me toward the pantry and pushes the door open.
“Bash, no. The kids… everyone’s literally right there.”
We are absolutely not meant to be in here right now.
Our daughter’s birthday party is in full swing, there are at least thirty people outside, and the smell of sausages is seeping into every corner of the house.
But none of that seems to matter when he’s looking at me like this. His eyes trail down the length of me.
“What do you think you’re doing?” I whisper-shout, as my breath catches in my throat.
“Taking care of my wife,” he mutters, already backing me up against the shelves, his hands bracketing either side of my hips.
He dips in, kissing me once, before bending slightly to lift one of my thighs around his waist, securing it there.
“Can’t have you stressing under my watch,” he murmurs into my mouth.
“Now bring that pussy over here, Trouble.”
“Bash—”
But I don’t even get the rest out because his mouth crashes back into mine, hot and hungry and completely unapologetic. Six years later, and this man still kisses me like he’s starving. Still sets every nerve ending in my body on fire without even trying.
Sebastian lifts the hem of my dress—rough and fast—his knuckles grazing my thighs.
My heart picks up speed. “The guests—”
“Can wait.”
My panties slide down in one practised tug, and before I can blink, he’s on his knees. One hand grips the back of my thigh, the other hooks under my knee and yanks my leg up over his broad shoulder. Goddamn.
“Fuck,” I hiss as his mouth finds me. His tongue flicks, circles, devours.
My head tips back against the shelves, the edge biting into my shoulder as I hold on for dear life.
My hand flies to his hair, gripping tight.
I refuse to let him cut it, no matter how many times he jokes about going short.
There is no better feeling than running my fingers through those silky strands, gripping, tugging, holding.
Just the way he likes. Pantry items crash around us, but I couldn’t give a single fuck if the whole shelf came down.
My moans come out in stuttered, breathy gasps. “Bash—oh, God—don’t stop—”
He pulls back slightly, releasing my clit with a filthy pop.
“Let go for me, Trouble.” he growls, voice thick.
His mouth is back on me, tongue working with relentless precision, but now his fingers are there too, sliding inside me.
One first. Then another. Pumping deep, curling just right, moving in perfect rhythm with his mouth.
I cry out, so loud that I need to slap my hand over my mouth to muffle the sound as my orgasm rips right through me.
My thighs quake around his head and my vision blanks out.
By the time I blink back into reality, Sebastian’s already standing, adjusting my underwear like he didn’t just wreck me at our daughter’s birthday party.
He smooths my hair back and presses a soft kiss to my cheek, calm as ever.
It’s completely inappropriate, terrible timing, but fuck, I needed it.
And I love that he always knows what I need.
That after all this time, after babies, and life, and stress and chaos, he still looks at me like I’m his everything.
I’m so fucking in love with this man. Still. Always. Forever.
We step out of the pantry just as the back door swings open. Isla enters, balancing two foil trays in her arms, sunglasses perched on her head, and a suspicious arch already lifting her brow. Her eyes sweep over us once—no doubt imagining in her mind what just happened—before narrowing into slits.
“I don’t even want to know,” she says, setting the trays on the bench with a knowing sigh. “But good for you!”